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Authors: The Dangerous Edge of Things
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a 9 mm. I was surprised at how realistic it felt, with the heft and balance of the real thing.
Trey moved to a computer station and tapped out a key sequence while I took some deep breaths. Thanks to my recent marksmanship lessons, I’d learned that I enjoyed shooting. It was like yoga, only with weapons. Breathe in, breathe out, focus on the still point between.
The target appeared again, and I pumped it full of holes, amazed at the realism of the mock pistol, right down to the simulated recoil.
“You’re good,” Trey said.
“You sound surprised.”
“I am. You’ve only been taking lessons for a month.”
“The guy teaching it says I have natural talent.” And then it hit me. “Wait a minute, how did you know that?”
“It was in your dossier.”
“I have a dossier?”
“Just basic background—residence, employment history. Several university transcripts, no degrees. Two speeding tickets, no other criminal record. Concealed carry permit still in process. Identifying marks include a recent tattoo on your left bicep and an appendectomy scar. No birthmarks.”
He’d missed a tattoo, an old one, in a very private place. This information pleased me.
“Why do I have a dossier? Because you’re my bodyguard?”
“No. Phoenix always runs background on job applicants. It’s standard operating procedure.”
“I didn’t apply for a job here. Who told you I did?”
Trey took the gun over to the pneumatic refill and pumped it full of air again. “Your brother.”
I fumed. Eric. Once again meddling in my life, trying to make it into something more along the lines of his life.
“I don’t want to talk about my dossier, I want to talk about Eric. The cops think my brother is involved with this murder, or maybe they think I’m involved with this murder. Either way this is
not
good news for my burgeoning career as liberal feminist gun shop owner. And then there’s you.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you. Garrity says if I’m gonna make any headway here, I’ve got learn how to work with you, and that means I have to trust you.”
“You don’t trust me?”
“Why should I?”
“There are several reasons.” He slipped into his jacket. “I’ve got an excellent record, with good references. I’m proficient with firearms and most small weapons. I’m Krav Maga trained, other self-defense too, including judo. Special certification in security risk assessment and management.”
I studied him. “So you’d take a bullet for me?”
He straightened his tie. “Of course.”
“That was a joke.”
“Oh.”
“But that’s not the kind of trust I’m talking about. I’m talking about the kind where you don’t lie to me, deceive me, withhold information from me. I found a corpse yesterday, and it’s been downhill ever since. I need to know you’re on my side.”
“Is this why you looked in my desk without asking me?”
I suppressed the burn of shame. “I’m sorry about that. It’s an old habit. Won’t happen again.”
“Okay.” He cocked his head. “I’m sorry if I’ve seemed untrustworthy. Garrity explained that part, didn’t he? Because I don’t want you to think that I’m…I’m looking for a word.”
“Devious,” I offered. “Shifty. Underhanded.”
His eyes did this funny little crinkle. “Yes, any of those. I’m not any of those. I’m not good at them anymore.”
Behind him the screen was blank, but I remembered the target. Shot after shot clustered around the heart, kill shot after kill shot, expertly and coolly delivered. I looked up at him. His eyes weren’t empty, just impassive, like the ocean.
“Were you serious about taking a bullet for me?”
“Are you still joking?”
“No.”
A pause. “Yes, I would. It’s part of my job.” Another pause. “Does that make you trust me?”
“Not yet. But we’re getting closer.”
He nodded, then headed for the door. “The conference call begins in eight minutes. Landon’s office is this way.”
Chapter 10
Kent
Trey moved to a computer station and tapped out a key sequence while I took some deep breaths. Thanks to my recent marksmanship lessons, I’d learned that I enjoyed shooting. It was like yoga, only with weapons. Breathe in, breathe out, focus on the still point between.
The target appeared again, and I pumped it full of holes, amazed at the realism of the mock pistol, right down to the simulated recoil.
“You’re good,” Trey said.
“You sound surprised.”
“I am. You’ve only been taking lessons for a month.”
“The guy teaching it says I have natural talent.” And then it hit me. “Wait a minute, how did you know that?”
“It was in your dossier.”
“I have a dossier?”
“Just basic background—residence, employment history. Several university transcripts, no degrees. Two speeding tickets, no other criminal record. Concealed carry permit still in process. Identifying marks include a recent tattoo on your left bicep and an appendectomy scar. No birthmarks.”
He’d missed a tattoo, an old one, in a very private place. This information pleased me.
“Why do I have a dossier? Because you’re my bodyguard?”
“No. Phoenix always runs background on job applicants. It’s standard operating procedure.”
“I didn’t apply for a job here. Who told you I did?”
Trey took the gun over to the pneumatic refill and pumped it full of air again. “Your brother.”
I fumed. Eric. Once again meddling in my life, trying to make it into something more along the lines of his life.
“I don’t want to talk about my dossier, I want to talk about Eric. The cops think my brother is involved with this murder, or maybe they think I’m involved with this murder. Either way this is
not
good news for my burgeoning career as liberal feminist gun shop owner. And then there’s you.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you. Garrity says if I’m gonna make any headway here, I’ve got learn how to work with you, and that means I have to trust you.”
“You don’t trust me?”
“Why should I?”
“There are several reasons.” He slipped into his jacket. “I’ve got an excellent record, with good references. I’m proficient with firearms and most small weapons. I’m Krav Maga trained, other self-defense too, including judo. Special certification in security risk assessment and management.”
I studied him. “So you’d take a bullet for me?”
He straightened his tie. “Of course.”
“That was a joke.”
“Oh.”
“But that’s not the kind of trust I’m talking about. I’m talking about the kind where you don’t lie to me, deceive me, withhold information from me. I found a corpse yesterday, and it’s been downhill ever since. I need to know you’re on my side.”
“Is this why you looked in my desk without asking me?”
I suppressed the burn of shame. “I’m sorry about that. It’s an old habit. Won’t happen again.”
“Okay.” He cocked his head. “I’m sorry if I’ve seemed untrustworthy. Garrity explained that part, didn’t he? Because I don’t want you to think that I’m…I’m looking for a word.”
“Devious,” I offered. “Shifty. Underhanded.”
His eyes did this funny little crinkle. “Yes, any of those. I’m not any of those. I’m not good at them anymore.”
Behind him the screen was blank, but I remembered the target. Shot after shot clustered around the heart, kill shot after kill shot, expertly and coolly delivered. I looked up at him. His eyes weren’t empty, just impassive, like the ocean.
“Were you serious about taking a bullet for me?”
“Are you still joking?”
“No.”
A pause. “Yes, I would. It’s part of my job.” Another pause. “Does that make you trust me?”
“Not yet. But we’re getting closer.”
He nodded, then headed for the door. “The conference call begins in eight minutes. Landon’s office is this way.”
Chapter 10
Kent
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